


Schisms

by chalice_asunder



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalice_asunder/pseuds/chalice_asunder
Summary: The Master saves Lucy from death, and decides to keep her.
Relationships: The Master (Delgado)/Lucy Saxon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Schisms

Lucy was supposed to be dead. It wasn’t what she’d wanted, not exactly, but since it would allow her to finally kill Harry for good, she embraced it whole-heartedly.

Moments ago, the ghost of her husband had loomed above her and the old terror returned, but only for a moment. She was stronger this time, and she’d prepared for years. 

As her dearly departed husband had drawn the lifeforce from the prison guards, her own agent in the prison had brought her the potion she needed to end the ritual in the fire and brimstone he so richly deserved.

The joy of her final moments; the sense of power and freedom; the knowledge that she was reaching towards atonement, even if she could never wash herself clean, exhilarated her. With all that had happened, she couldn’t have imagine a better end.

“Till death do us part, Harry!”

She had thrown the potion. The room had exploded.

She hadn’t died.

Instead she stood in the console room of a TARDIS. Not quite like Harry’s, but close enough. Outside she could hear the prison collapsing down on top of them, but the TARDIS didn’t even shake.

A polite cough caused her to turn around. Standing there was a man dressed all in black, his beard streaked with grey, and eyes that she could have gazed into for an eternity. He was as handsome as he was unsettling. She only knew of two Time Lords, and this one was not the Doctor.

When he moved towards her, she instinctively moved back. That caused him to smile, and she wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. If she amused Harry, he wouldn’t hurt her, not very much. But that was when she’d cared about being hurt.

“I know who you are,” she said.

“Do you?” the Master said.

“I know the face of my husband when I see it.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “I see very few similarities between myself and the subject of that nasty little resurrection ritual.”

“It’s in your eyes,” she said softly. She took a step towards him. “They’ve seen things I couldn’t even imagine. Just like his.”

She could tell he liked that: his look shifted just enough for her to read a hint of approval. He raised his hand, encased in a black leather glove, to frame her face. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and she was back in Downing Street, back with _him_.

“No,” said the Master firmly, and his hand moved to the back of her head. He wrapped her hair around his fingers and pulled, forcing her to look up at him. His grip tightened. “I am not your husband.”

He leaned down to kiss her. His lips were as cool as Harry’s but that was the only similarity. He was in control, but not demanding. Possessive, but not cruel. His hands skimmed down her body to her waist and pulled her closer. She didn’t resist.

When he pulled away, her breathing had quickened.

He ran leather-glad fingers over her delicate wrists, and she shivered at the touch. One hand trailed up her bare arm, up to her throat, before gently tracing down to the neckline of her grey top. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back, and concentrated on the feel of leather on her skin. His other hand, for a moment, clasped her exposed throat. Harry might have squeezed, or dug his nails into her soft skin until he drew blood. This one only held her firmly, and let her feel the strength of his hand without hurting her.

When he removed his hands from her, she took a long, luxurious breath, and looked at him. 

There was a look of satisfaction on his face. “I think I shall keep you. For a while.”

-

She’d showered and dressed and applied make-up. The dress she wore was green; she’d never wear red again.

When she returned to him, he ran his eyes over her, and then nodded in approval. Harry had liked her to be pretty too.

He reached out a hand to her and she took it without hesitation. He could make her feel good, and he could make her forget. And he hadn’t hurt her.

“You tried to kill me,” he murmured, pulling her close, speaking into her hair. He almost sounded approving.

“Twice.”

He laughed. “I must have done terrible things to you.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“What would you like me to do now?”

She looked up at him, uncertain. Whatever she said, she knew he would do exactly as he wished anyway. “I want you to tell me why I’m here.”

“I was curious,” he said. “I so rarely take companions.”

“You could have stolen me at any time.”

“That would’ve made things more complicated. I’d have had to put you back eventually. Dead, it doesn’t matter.”

“So, I’m dead after all,” she murmured.

“Yes. On Earth.” He spun her around and pulled her back against his chest. His arm slipped round her waist, caressing her stomach. His head bent down to press kisses to her neck. “Here, you’re very much alive.” 

She let herself drift away into his touches, compliant and responsive to the hands exploring her body. She pressed back against him and could feel the effect she was having on him. He reached down, hand skimming over her thighs, and briefly pressing between her legs, drawing a moan from her.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please what?”

Oh, she knew that answer to that. “Master. Please, Master.”

He spun her around. “Kneel.”

She obeyed instantly, falling to her knees before him, holding his gaze as she did so. He traced his thumb down her jaw, then across her lip.

“Open,” he commanded. She parted her lips, and took his thumb in her mouth, sucking at the leather, caressing it with her tongue.

When her mouth was filled with his cock, she still held his gaze. His hand was tangled in her hair, and she relished his control.

Once he was finished, he raised her to her feet. Slowly, he stripped off his gloves and Lucy shivered.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “I’m pleased with you.”

He cupped her head in his hands, pressing her forehead to his, and she felt his mind surround hers. She didn’t resist, but welcomed him in. It was nothing like it had been with Harry. There was precision and discipline as well as power. And that power was held firmly in check, he was neither careless nor wasteful, and using only what was needed for his purpose.

Stars surrounded her, and she swam through them. Thousands upon thousands lit the darkness, and beyond them countless billions, on and on and on until the end of the universe. So much life, so many possibilities, and the intoxicating wonder of it all.

Heat laced through her, her body on fire with sensation, subtle and delicious. She shuddered, cresting a height of pleasure, and fell through the stars and into his arms.

When she opened her eyes again, she lay on the floor of the TARDIS console room. A gloved hand reached down and helped pull her to her feet.

She looked up at him, her lips parted; awed, terrified, fascinated by who stood before her.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He held her, stroking her hair. “I’m glad you appreciate it. How much could you see, I wonder? How much before you break?”

“I want to find out,” she said, her blood racing.

He smiled down at her, and nodded.


End file.
